Saint Joseph School

(( This story starts several weeks ago, prior to Timothy coming to Saint Joseph School. In part, it will explain how he ended up at SJS. ))

Stifling a cough from the stale cigar smoke wafting through the air, Timothy looked around the dimly lit basement. He was surprised at how easily he had been admitted. Robert, one of his poker pals, had told him to place an order for a dozen hot wings when nobody else was at the counter. Hot wings weren't on this particular pizza parlor's menu; it was the code phrase for the gambling racket hidden in the basement. The elderly man behind the counter asked him what kind of sauce he wanted with his hot wings, and Timothy had responded that he'd prefer marinara, the follow-up phrase. The man had led him into the kitchen and pointed him to a door in the corner. The kitchen cook hadn't even looked up as he crossed the room and went downstairs.

It probably helped that the old man didn't exactly see Timothy standing before him. Instead, he saw a fit, rugged man in his late thirties wearing a crisp blue suit. The spell had been a hassle to pull off. His great-great-grandfather's journal had listed off a few odd ingredients he'd need to ingest prior to visualizing the appearance and voice he wanted while chanting a very long incantation. He was amazed it had worked so well, but then again, his great-great-grandfather had been a rather capable mage.

A boy about Timothy's age noticed his entry and approached him. He was surprisingly well-dressed: dress slacks, a tie, freshly-shined loafers. "How much are you in for, sir?"

Timothy dug into his pocket, then handed him a wad of cash. "Two-hundred fifty dollars."

The boy raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he took the cash and walked over to a small table. He quickly returned with a small stack of chips. "Reds are five, blues are ten, greens are twenty-five. Please follow me."

There were three tables that looked set up for poker, but only two of them had games going. Timothy was seated at the less busy table with three other players who were introduced as Chuck, Joe, and Alan. Chuck looked to be in his mid thirties, wearing a suit disconcertingly similar to Timothy's and sporting a wry sense of humor. Joe was clearly the Family man at the table, a kindly forty-something Italian who looked very solidly in control of the table. Alan was a smart-ass yuppy in early twenties. On the spot to introduce himself, Timothy said his name was Thomas. He immediately felt like kicking himself for blurting a name so similar to his own.

Timothy set his chips down on the table and took a seat. The other three men had significantly larger piles of chips in front of them. As the first hand was dealt, he made a mental note to scrounge up a bit more money next time he came. It didn't take long for the thought to fade from his mind as he got wrapped up in the tossing of chips and cards. At first, he did pretty well and pulled ahead about a hundred dollars. Right as he was starting to enjoy his groove, his luck changed harshly for the worst. It wasn't long before he found himself lacking enough chips to match the current bet.

"Well, I guess that means I'm out, guys." Timothy laid his hand down on the table and scooted his chair back from the table, but Joe spoke up before he actually stood to leave.

"The night's still young, Thomas. You got to give old lady luck more time to work her magic. Tell you what, why don't I loan you five grand. You're good for that, right?"

Timothy hesitated. Five thousand dollars. He knew that was significantly more money than he was good for, but the night was still young. His luck would change, he could feel it. "Sure I am. Thanks, Joe!"

Joe called for Anthony, who turned out to be the boy who handled the chips earlier. Anthony supplied him with a nice large pile of chips, and Timothy was back in the game. Over the course of the night, Timothy's luck meandered back and forth between okay and miserable. When Joe ended the game at around three, Timothy was down to perhaps three hundred dollars in chips.

"Looks like old lady luck decided she didn't want nothing to do with you tonight." Joe chuckled. "That's okay, maybe next time, right? Now, you owe me five. Gimme your driver's license so I can make a record of it. I know you're good for it, but gotta cover the bases, ya know?"

Timothy panicked. His driver's license wasn't affected by the spell: it still depicted his sixteen-year-old normal self. He couldn't very well say no, though, and who knew what might happen if he went invisible to sneak out. Joe didn't seem superpowered, but Timothy was too smart to assume the Family wouldn't be prepared for such a stunt. So he did the only thing he could do: he handed Joe his license and hoped he wouldn't notice.

For a few moments, it looked like it might work. Joe took the license and led Timothy upstairs to an old battered copying machine where he made a quick copy while making idle chatter. He was about to hand it back over when he actually glanced down at it and went abruptly silent for a moment.

"Thomas, this ain't you." Joe then looked up and gave Timothy an unhappy stern look. "Or you ain't Thomas. Which is it?"

Timothy cursed himself mentally. "I'm not Thomas. I'm Timothy." Closing his eyes, he concentrated for a moment while muttering the spell's release phrase. For such a complicated spell to set up, it took very little to tear down. The air around Timothy shimmered for a moment as he transitioned from a respectable middle-aged man to a busted teenager.

"If you think you're getting out of this because you're just a kid, you better think again." Joe's tone brooked no nonsense. He wasn't exactly angry, but he was certainly displeased.

"I told you I was good for it. I always make good on my bets. How long do I have?"

Joe paused in thought for a moment. "Since you're just a kid, I'll give you a week. But no longer than that, you got me?"

"Yeah, I got you." Timothy frowned. "You'll have your money in a week."

Joe said nothing more as he led Timothy to the door and let him out. As he rode the train home, he deperately tried to come up with ways to raise five thousand dollars in a week's time. By the time he was home, sneaking invisibly into the house and up to his room, he'd given up. As he fell asleep, he wondered if his family's health insurance covered busted kneecaps from mafia-related incidents.

Timothy leaned invisibly against a tree in Francine Omlow's expansive front yard. He'd scoped out a number of houses in the wealthy suburbs and had decided that old Francine would be a good target. A seventy-four-year-old widow living alone on an estate that could easily house several whole families, she probably wouldn't even miss five thousand dollars. From what Timothy had seen, she also didn't seem all that sharp anymore, which meant he'd be able to more easily manipulate her.

Shortly after four o'clock, the front door opened and a thirty-something brunette left. Timothy smiled to himself as she got in her car and drove off. Francine was diabetic and needed insulin shots, but she absolutely refused to learn how to give them to herself. The brunette was the nurse she had hired to come by a few times a day to administer her shots and handle any other ailments that might arise. He'd invisibly followed her inside yesterday to get a better grasp on Francine. She was the only person Timothy had seen visit Francine over the last few days, so he figured this was as safe a time as any to try his plan.

Walking towards her front door, Timothy allowed himself to become visible again. He was wearing brown slacks and a light beige button-up shirt with a brick red tie, and his hair was well combed with a sharp part on the right. He put on a bright smile and readied himself for some acting as he rang the doorbell and waited. A minute passed without response, so he rang the doorbell again. He was about to try a third ring when the door cracked open, revealing an elderly woman in a prim grey dress with a string of large pearls around her neck.

"Hello, young man. Can I help you?" Francine smiled at the well-dressed young man before her.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." Timothy managed to make his smile even wider and brighter. He chose his next words carefully, knowing that the first impressions could make or break his scam. "My name is Timothy. I'm a volunteer with Paragon City World Outreach. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to discuss the plight of the thousands of children in Africa who are needlessly starving to death each day. Might I come in?"

"Oh yes, please do." Francine opened the door a bit wider and waved him inside. "My name is Francine. Let's sit down in the parlor. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?"

"A glass of water would sure be nice, ma'am. If it's no trouble." Timothy graced her with another bright smile as she led him to a cozy room with a half dozen ornate but plush chairs arranged around a round glass-top table with gold trim. She let him seat himself as she left, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water for Timothy and a cup of tea for herself.

"So, children in Africa you said?" Francine looked at Timothy with interest as she took her seat, clearly wanting to hear more. Having rummaged through her mail a bit, he'd gathered that she was a fairly philanthropic person, but he hadn't expected her to be quite this concerned. Things were going much more smoothly than Timothy had hoped.

"Yes, thousands of African children die each day of starvation, dehydration, and disease." Timothy feigned a convincingly sad expression, then brightened up. "The good news is that it's completely preventable." He then proceeded to talk about the problems facing African children and how Paragon City World Outreach sponsored overseas efforts to address the situation. He'd spent a few dull hours reviewing the brochures, pamphlets, and videos he'd obtained from their office, as well as the ample information found on their website. Francine positively soaked up his schpiel, looking more and more concerned about the poor African children. By the time he finished up, he knew he had her. He just hoped he'd be able to pull off the tricky part this easily.

"So, as you can see, it's up to concerned individuals like you and me to do what we can to fix the situation. And this is just the first step. We're hoping that, in a few years, we'll be able to start funding education efforts as well. Food, water, and medical treatment will only fix the short-term problems. Education is necessary to fix things in the long-term. But, for now, the short-term problems are too pressing to ignore. Do you think you can find it in your heart to donate a bit of money to alleviate the plight of these poor children?"

"Of course I do!" Francine looked surprised that Timothy had even asked, as though it was something he should have known by now. She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a checkbook. "Let's see, how about a thousand dollars. That should help, right?"

"A thousand dollars would be great, but..." Timothy bit his lip, pretending to hesitate. He had to word this very carefully. "I had made a goal for myself of raising twenty thousand dollars. I've managed to raise about fifteen thousand, well, sixteen with yours. I just wish I could do more to help. Unfortunately, I've already visited most of the neighborhood. There's only a few more houses left." Timothy looked at Francine with a sad, hopeful look bordering on pathetic.

Francine laughed lightly. "Let's help you meet your goal. I'll make it five thousand. I'm writing the check out to Paragon City World Outreach, right?"

Timothy focused and subtly exerted his magic to make Francine more open to suggestion. "Actually, write it out to Timothy Bastian. We're supposed to collect the money and submit it in one sum so they can track which volunteer raised what money more easily."

Francine looked at Timothy doubtfully for a moment, but a bit more magical influence caused her to blink and write the check out, no more questions asked. She smiled as she handed it to him. "You're such a nice young man. I wish more young people cared about the rest of the world like you do."

Timothy felt a tinge of guilt as she led him to the door but quickly suppressed it. After all, he had a debt to pay.

"Timothy Bastian?" A tough, middle-aged black woman wearing a dull red blouse and faded jeans had emerged from the office as another sullen teenager was leaving. Timothy grimaced and quietly followed her into her office.

"Please, take a seat." She gestured to a simple, uncomfortable-looking chair facing her desk as she took her seat and opened up a folder filled with forms and documents. Timothy took the seat, but remained silent. The woman leafed through a few pages, jotted down a few notes, then sat back and fixed Timothy with an appraising look.

"I'm not sure what the court clerk told you. They've a habit of telling kids enough to get them here, but not enough to actually tell them what's going on. My name's Regina Wolston. The court's assigned me to be your social worker. Since the system's critically understaffed, I'll also be filling a few other roles as well, but I won't go into that. The important thing for you to understand right now is this: I'll be working with you extensively for a while, and there's not a thing you can do to change that. So we might as well get acquainted and learn to work with each other. If you have any questions at any time, feel free to ask them." Regina paused for a moment, perhaps to see if Timothy had any questions. He didn't speak up, so Regina continued. "The best way to start is probably for you to tell me your side of things, Tim. I know what the court says, but why don't you tell me why you're here."

"My name's Timothy." Timothy spoke in a flat voice while glaring at Regina.

Sighing, Regina repeated her request. "Fine, Timothy. Why don't you tell me why you're here."

"Because the court has assigned me two-hundred fifty hours community service, and state law requires that I be assigned a social worker to help facilitate that sentence as well as ensuring that I avoid further infractions." It almost sounded like Timothy was reciting off something he'd heard someone else say.

Regina set her pen down and leaned forward. "Timothy, I can make your life much easier or much harder. If you prefer easier, I would suggest you learn to cooperate." She paused, and Timothy dropped his eyes to the floor sullenly. "Now, tell me why you're here."

Timothy felt cornered. He knew he wouldn't be able to verbally manipulate her, and if he tried to magically manipulate her the consequences could be very bad. He couldn't just sit there silently or she'd just get further irritated, but he didn't want to tell some state busybody anything about himself. He frowned, then tried to piece together as neutral an answer as he could.

"I persuaded a wealthy, elderly woman to write me a check for five thousand dollars. The state has deemed my actions as magical coercion."

Regina leaned back again and picked her pen back up, then jotted down a few notes. "That's a start. Tell me why and how you did that."

Timothy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I convinced her I was a volunteer with Paragon City World Outreach. She thought the money she was giving me would go to feed African children."

"How'd you get caught?"

Timothy grimaced. "She called Paragon City World Outreach to tell them how wonderful a job I did."

Regina's serious demeanor seemed to crack for a moment in brief amusement. "And?"

Glaring, Timothy continued. "And they'd never heard of me before. They also were a bit concerned that I had her write the check out to me, rather than to them."

"Sounds like you can pull together a pretty convincing act when you want to." Regina paused, perhaps to see if Timothy would respond to her comment, but continued on again after only a few moments. "You never said why you did it."

Timothy shifted again in his seat and tried to think of an indirect way of answering her. "I needed the money." He wasn't having a very inspired day.

"Obviously. For what?"

"I had to pay off a debt." He realized she was going to keep asking until she got the full answer, but Timothy was determined to make her drag out it out piece by piece.

"You're only sixteen. How'd you manage to accrue a five thousand dollar debt?"

Timothy glared at her, then went back to staring at the floor. "I lost at poker."

Regina quirked an eyebrow. "How often do you play?"

"I play with my friends a few times a month."

"You're omitting something. I gather you don't normally lose five thousand to your friends. Out with it."

Timothy was beginning to lose his patience with her. She was being far too direct and too agressive, and he didn't feel like answering these questions any more. "I went to an illegal gambling joint, and I'm not telling you any more about it."

Regina chuckled, which completely threw Timothy off balance. "Showing some fire now, are you? Fine, I'll change subjects." Once again, she was back to her serious demeanor, with hardly a sign that she'd just laughed. "Tell me about your powers."

"They're magic."

"Timothy, you know damn well that I'm looking for more than a two word answer."

Timothy blinked and almost grinned in spite of himself, but caught himself in time. He wondered if maybe this Regina person might not be as bad as he'd feared. "Most of what I do is fairly mind-directed, instinctual magic. It runs in my family. I can manipulate people's minds to an extent, and I can accelerate the rate at which people heal. I can make myself invisible. I just have to focus properly. I can also do more advanced stuff, but it requires components or incantations. I don't have much experience with that, though."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Regina's face again. Perhaps he was finally beginning to relax and open up a bit. "I understand you were interviewed and analyzed by MAGI. Their report says your powers lend themselves well to team-oriented assignments. The sentence by the court indicates that you should be assigned community service through MAGI. Do you feel capable of doing the work they require?"

Timothy frowned and sighed. "If I must, yes."

"You're scheduled to report for duty on Monday. You'll be expected to work as many hours as you can during the summer. You do have a rather large sentence to work off." She paused yet again, but continued after another few moments. "There's one more matter we should touch on before you leave. I spoke with your parents and they expressed a desire to send you to Catholic school. Have they spoken with you about that?"

Spoken wasn't the right word. Argued was much more appropriate, but he wasn't about to volunteer that information. "Yes, they mentioned it to me."

"I've convinced them to look into Saint Joseph School. It's a Catholic school, but it's also a school for gifted students with powers such as yours. I can imagine you're not looking forward to Catholic school, but give Saint Joe's a chance. They have a lot they can teach you."

Regina clearly was waiting for a response from Timothy, but all Timothy was willing to give her was a non-commital grunt.

"You could stand to learn a lot from your community service, too. Come back to my office next week." Flipping through her calendar, she picked a date and time and jotted the appointment down on a small card. "Make sure you show up for your community service, and make sure you show up for your appointment with me next week. There's worse places you could end up working off your community service."

"I will." Timothy clearly was not looking forward to it, but he seemed resigned to his fate.

"Good. Now get out of here." Regina's tone was just casual enough to make it sound almost friendly, but she definitely was herding him out of the office and dragging the next sullen teenager into her office before he had a chance to say another word.

Timothy sighed, then left the building. He definitely would not be gambling at the pizza place again.


(( And that brings Timothy's pre-SJS story to a close. ))